


The Kingdom of Iron

by Kookaburra42



Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: Because I can, Dark Fantasy, Dragons, Historical References, Horseback Riding, Intrigue, I’ve been hyping this for months hope it doesn’t disappoint, M/M, Medieval Medicine, Oh and Also, On Hiatus, Pirates, Politics, Post-Canon, Ravan has both a glaive and a brain cell, SGE but the Silmarillion threw up on it, Slow Burn, Some Humor, War, like sloooow these emotionally constipated dumbasses I swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25530826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kookaburra42/pseuds/Kookaburra42
Summary: Japeth has been defeated. In the aftermath, someone new rises in his place—but he has no interest in Agatha and Sophie. His interests lie in the Storian. This new power’s name? Emerens.  His worst enemy? A young rakshasa named Ravan, who has begun to forge an empire and a legacy. A legacy of iron and blood.
Relationships: Agatha/Tedros (The School for Good and Evil), Hort/Ravan (The School for Good and Evil), Kiko/Yara (The School for Good and Evil), Ravan & Sophie (The School for Good and Evil)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	The Kingdom of Iron

“Barely two days past your twentieth birthday, and already you’ve terrified most of the known world,” Zaeryn mused, examining their nails with great interest. “My, but if your father had your talent--”

“If my father had my talent for diplomacy, we wouldn’t  _ be here,”  _ Ravan lashed. His eyes blazed red for a moment, then retreated to their normal black as he sighed. 

  
“Mmm, touchy today, are we? Or a wee bit tired?” they said slyly, a grin twisting their grey-skinned face. 

“Exhausted, you twit.” Ravan swatted a clawed hand at the earth spirit lazily. “I’ve climbed my way into every social ladder but Camelot’s--”

“And if you would  _ talk to them,  _ you’d be better off, dearie.” Zaeryn sighed. “I’ve told you, they won’t mind helping an old friend…” 

“As if I was their friend. We barely knew each other.” Ravan thought about slouching for a moment, but decided against it and settled for crossing his arms in a huff. 

“You’ve got an army. Would you like to use it against them?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t  _ know,  _ dammit!” Ravan slashed an arm across the map table, sending figures tumbling. 

“Calm yourself before you hurt me!” Zaeryn shrieked, shielding their face from the onslaught of map figurines. Ravan growled and bared his fangs. The spirit shrank back, then sighed again. “Ravan, I’m here to  _ help  _ you. If you would even think about talking to Tedros--”

“No. Never. Not happening.” 

“And, pardon my language, but why the  _ fuck  _ not?” 

“BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO DEAL WITH HIM AND HIS BITCH OF A WIFE!” Ravan roared, eyes now a blazing red. 

“Again, why not? What have they ever done to you?”

“Nothing! I have never,  _ ever  _ been on their radar! Now they want to make nice? And why? Oh, right. Because they don’t want to actually have to fight me! They’ve never planned a real war before and with no one there who can--because gods forbid they listen to anyone experienced--they’d be  _ crushed.  _ Wiped off the map completely.” 

“So you’re afraid they’re using you,” Zaeryn said quietly, understanding dawning on their face. 

  
“You just realize that?” Ravan looked incredulous. 

“You aren’t easy to read. You never have been.” Zaeryn walked around the table to place a hand on the rakshasa’s shoulder. “Calm down. So what if they need your help? With Camelot backing you, you will have no opponents. Besides, they have no idea who you really are. They don’t know that the Lord of Iron is Ravan from their school years.”

“I know that, but I don’t want help from Camelot. I’m sick of living in their shadow. Now, everyone speculates about the Lord of Iron rather than who the One True King is. It’s all rather satisfying.” A slow smirk spread over his face. “Hmm. Imagine their shock when the Lord of Iron is someone they didn’t even bother to think about…” 

“Shall I arrange a meeting, m’lord?” Zaeryn said, eyes glinting slyly. 

“Actually? Yes. I’d love to see that--it’ll give me something to look forward to after all this dreary social climbing.” 

“Lovely. I’ll get on that immediately.” With a smart salute, Zaeryn turned on their heel and left the tent. 

Ravan smirked again. This would be great fun.

-

Tedros winced. “Agatha, are you sure--”

“The Lord of Iron may be Evil, but he’s gaining traction,” Agatha said firmly. “We need him on our side.” 

“Of course we do. Because a warlord will be completely trustworthy,” Tedros huffed, glaring at her. 

“And what would you have me do, then?” Agatha shot back. 

“Ask Aragorn or Arwen.” 

“They don’t know everything!”

  
“Really? Because they seem to be the only people around here capable of running anything!” Tedros deflated. “Besides, with Lance and my mom gone…”

“I know. You think of them, especially Aragorn, as parents. But they can only do so much.” Agatha placed a hand on his. “Although, with the way you’ve been acting, you’d think  _ you  _ were the one pregnant.” 

They both laughed. Then, “Speaking of which…” 

“TEDROS! I’M FINE!” 

-

Sophie glared at the Storian, which hadn’t moved in days. “Nothing? Really?” 

“What is it?” she heard a very weary voice ask. Beatrix appeared from around the corner, a scowl on her face. 

“It’s still. It’s like it’s…sleeping.” Sophie frowned. 

“Ugh. Sophie, get over it. There’s probably nothing going on--” Beatrix sighed. 

“Really? A warlord appearing out of nowhere and conquering three kingdoms is nothing?” The Dean of Evil waved her arms through the air frantically, as if to emphasize her point. 

“It really isn’t, Sophie. Warlords are nothing new.” The Dean of Good rolled her eyes. “You should be focusing on finding a worthy--what the  _ hell?” _ At the word ‘worthy’, the Storian had shifted, flying up to its normal position, twitching, and falling back down. Both Deans gaped at it. “--School Master,” Beatrix finished. 

“Maybe it’s broken?” Sophie whispered. 

“It’s a magical pen. Probably not.” 

“Well, it’s not like it’s a living thing. Objects bre--gah!” The Storian was in the air again, and it spat ink at Sophie violently. She cursed, wiping her hands at the black ink, but it only smeared. 

“You were right,” Beatrix said, dumbfounded. She shook her head. This made no sense. Lionsmane was gone, there was nothing to fear anymore. 

_ Time to do some reading.  _

-

“A message from the Lord of Iron! He wishes to arrange a meeting at Your Majesty’s nearest hour of convenience!” the herald, Rovin, shouted as he burst into the council room. Winded, he skidded to a halt in front of Tedros. “Your Majesty, the messenger said he’d be here in the next day or so--he’s only two days away!” 

Tedros paled. “Dismissed,” he ordered. As soon as Rovin left the room, the room erupted. 

“Tedros,” a voice said, easily heard over the din, “thou may wish to check up upon thy defenses--thou may be in danger, if this strange lord may come unchecked within two days of thy home.” 

A collective gasp rang through the room in the wake of this flagrant use of the informal pronoun. “Lord Aragorn!” said Countess Tempe, clutching at her pearls. “This--this is quite the breach of conduct!” 

Aragorn inclined his head. “Is it so, good lady, if the one using it is close personally to the king? Would the same horror be given if the queen did such a thing?” He inclined his head respectfully towards Agatha. Agatha (for her part) looked as if she was suppressing laughter. 

“Perhaps not,” snapped Lord Adlard, “but it is still quite improper.” 

“How so?” Tedros asked. “He is close to us and we to him--we in fact encourage it.” 

“Ye art a  _ king,  _ Your Majesty.” 

“And ye art a mere lord. Forget not your station or we may have your head.” Tedros glared at Lord Adlard. The threat was clear, and the other councilors backed down. “On the original subject, then, yes, we shall look closer at our defenses and look for a breach. Council dismissed. Aragorn, Arwen, may we speak to you privately?” 

Aragorn and Arwen stood and followed Tedros and Agatha out of the room. 

“My apologies for that,” Aragorn said quietly. 

“No matter. I was surprised to hear you use Camelot’s dialect--even I’m more accustomed to the common language.” He grinned sheepishly. 

“It was a good point, after all--and I’m sick of all the haggling and simpering. I could practically smell the bullshit,” Agatha cracked. Arwen laughed, a sound like tinkling bells on the breeze. 

_ Somehow,  _ Tedros thought, _ she makes everyone around her look better just by existing.  _ He cleared his throat. “Well, um, we should find something to eat. Would you two like to join us, or…”

“We will join you,” Aragorn said. He and Arwen both smiled at the young king and queen, who relaxed. 

No, this wouldn’t be too awful… 

-

Ravan was growing more and more irritable listening to this idiot captain. He seemed rather like an animal poking at its companion to see if it would retaliate. Captains like those were easily got rid of. 

“And what do you think of this, my lord Ravan?” the captain, Vogun said. Silence followed this, then swords flew into hands and Zaeryn was at Ravan’s side. 

Ravan merely looked at him. “You do realize what your boldness will get you, do you not?” he murmured. “You presume that I will condone your usage of my true name--as if I cared one bit for your pitiful existence! If you are to use any name, it will be Haearn. I must also note,” here he paused, grinning wickedly, “that it has been a great while since any of us have seen an execution. What say you, my captains?” 

“I say,” yelled one, a woman named Azri, “that he should be sentenced to death by a thousand cuts!” 

The others cheered. Evidently, he hadn’t overestimated their bloodlust--if anything, he’d underestimated it. 

As the man pleaded for his life fruitlessly, someone watched, fascinated. 

_ All according to plan… _

-

The Storian twitched. Once, twice. And now up into the air, floating high—

And stabbing back down viciously. The book it summoned had an elegant ebony cover. The title was  _ Of Chaos and Iron.  _

It began like this:  _ The ground was bathed in blood; the aftermath of an execution.  _

The School awoke to Sophie’s shriek of horror.

-

Dragons are ridiculously fussy creatures. They are rather fond of hoarding things and get very irritated when anything disturbs them. 

Hence, Hort’s terrible (and yet utterly inevitable, really) predicament. He had angered a dragon by the name of Umptikar and was desperately trying to talk his way out of his demise.

“You have disturbed my mid-century nap!” Umptikar boomed. “And you dare tell me you were ‘only passing through?’” 

“I—”

“Silence, you small, pathetic  _ thing!  _ I will decide who is right and who is wrong here!” 

“OH, FOR GOD’S SAKE, LET ME FINISH!” Hort shrieked, sick of the dragon’s condescending tone. “I JUST WANT TO LEAVE, OKAY? I DIDN’T MEAN TO WAKE YOU UP, I JUST WAS WALKING BY!”

Umptikar looked at him and huffed. “Well, you’re still trespassing.” 

“Fine. Fine. How can I make it up to you?” 

“Hm. Well, I  _ suppose  _ you could let me use you as a publicity stunt--you know, fly around with me, terrify some villages, eat some sheep (though I would eat the sheep).” 

Hort considered this. It wasn’t a terrible offer. “Fine. But I get to keep some of the riches you carry off, and I get to choose some cool armor from your hoard.” 

“Deal.” 

Hort went about grabbing armor and putting it on. He did this with some issues and a lot of spellwork--he had bothered to study on occasion, and having a natural-born warrior for a roommate helped a lot. 

“There. Done. Ready to go?” 

“Yes, yes, of course--shall we go to Madraxa, then? I’ve heard their cuisine is stunning--they are especially known for their mutton, which means sheep. Lots of them.” Umptikar licked his lips, then noticed Hort staring. “And, of course, many lovely meals for you.” 

They took off soon after, Hort clinging for dear life to Umptikar’s back. A small price to pay for such a prosperous journey. 

At least, that’s what Hort told himself. 

-

The Storian was famed for its tales. It told the only true ones, after all--and yet. And yet, its tale had never been told, though it had been featured in two. 

No one knew that it wasn’t a pen. No one knew that it was cursed to be beloved by all and yet never to be truly  _ loved.  _

No one knew that it--no,  _ he-- _ had a name. 

The pen was named Turwamaitar, and he had a story to tell. 

Because now it was time for his story to be told. Now it was time for him to use his abilities for a good reason. 

Not necessarily because of Good, though: he doubted they would bother to care.

No, there was someone new involved in this. Someone he hadn’t seen coming, a variable who would upend the metaphorical chessboard and then laugh. 

Someone named Emerens. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got you with that reveal. I did, didn’t I? 
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> [shamelessly promoting my sge tumblr](http://grand-high-witch-ultimate.tumblr.com)


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